Hi, I'm Arindam!
I am a late bloomer! So after a decade and half in journalism I gathered the wits and wisdom to embark on a new journey; begin a new venture.
It was time, I seized the day. And thus Carpe Diem happened. It is a boutique PR and Branding agency that not only gives personal attention to clients but has done away with straight-jacketing, stereotypes and conventions. In the absurdity of thoughts it has scaled greater heights.
As for me I am still a full time dreamer, part-time story teller and an occasional author! Though among other things I am currently working on two books. An academic and another a non-fiction. I write blogs as you will find here. But I need to do it more frequently I guess.
Just for the record – I also teach. Despite my notorious mood swings and low patience level my students love me. They come full house. I wonder how. Why. But more on that another day!
You can contact me here, on FB, by mail or through carrier pigeons…
Yesterday was our marriage anniversary. My wife and myself decided to see the first show of Shahjahan Regency at Inox South City. This already shows our faith and positive bias towards Srijit Mukherjee. I have known Srijit through occasional hi-hellos in social circles. Never had a chance to talk to him properly. Largely because I
Ragnar Lothbrok in the series Vikings believed that in order to attain Valhalla (heaven) one had to be fearless when faced with the impossible.
I am an Indian to the core. But today when I saw the 11 red caps walk out in Bangalore to the desolation of the stands, I stood up at the hotel room I was couped in, in another part of the country and clapped. I was joining the celebrations of a country broken by
Last evening the Norwester hit the city. Gutsy wind coupled with an arrogant spate of shower lashed a giant hoarding of Kabir along E M Bye Pass.
If colours could speak then we would know what kind of mood the stalwarts were in. For Sourav Ganguly donned a hue of ripe tomato, while Virat Kohli sported a candy floss pink. The occasion was the launch of “Eleven Gods and a Billion Indians” by Boria Majumdar.
Unicorns and nymphs are not for real. Or so I thought. Till that day when I saw her walk alongside Boney Kapoor to launch the Bengal Tigers team. Being the media handlers for the team gave me a ringside view.
Khurafati and Conscientious these two words sum up the superbly crafted play in two acts “A Walk in the Woods”. In the last scene as the lights dimmed, Jamaluddin Lutfullah and Ram Chinappa sat at two ends of the stage, one dejected with the frivolity of the peace circus and the other still filled with
Tonight I buried her. She was still wearing the green striped vest with the red Macau she picked from the pet store. Only this time she did not snuggle up to me and let go the sigh of relief… I am safe now papa. For this is what made my nights for the last five
The long shadows of evening slowly swallowed the green turf as a lonely figure continued to jog along the ropes of the boundary He was breathing heavily, sweat flowing freely like a river in spate and the muscles breaking under the unforgiving pain. But he continued in his strides till someone came and stopped him
As Netflix viewers worldwide gorge on Pablo Escobar’s bloody journey via the superlative series Narcos, passing popcorn as he blows up planes, assassinates ministers and builds his own zoo, the people of Colombia who lived through his very real mayhem remain conflicted.
A review of Mumbai Nights Script: Debashis Roy; Direction: Bratya Basu Bratya Basu is a predator. He prowls about from stage to stage as mere mortals fall prey to the analogies, metaphors and uncomfortable questions he poses through his plays. Like he did right at the end of this one, when characters were introduced and
I was recently reading Sumit Ghosh’s report from Sri Lanka in Anandabazar Patrika. He was talking about how internal problems were gnawing into the very foundations of cricket in the emerald islands. It triggered a conversation with the Thaliava of off-spin Murali here in the city.
I am not sure how many remembers the Conor ‘The Notorious’ McGregor versus Nate Dias in UFC 196. But those that do will recollect how both the fighters bobbed and feinted, each waiting for the other to open up a mistake. Behind random and desultory cries of ‘hit him’ from either camps, force fields of
Lakshmi N Mittal, Chairman and CEO, of the LNM Group, has recently bought a central London house for a stunning price of £70 million ($128.25 million or about Rs 560 crore). The NRI steel magnate’s new house walked into the Guinness Book of Records as the world’s most expensive house.
The Battle of Brisbane ended up being Battle Bogus after Manny Pacquiao was robbed of his WBO Welterweight Title by an unknown Aussie native Jeff Horn with no skills in boxing and a corny nickname Hornet.
Interview: Sunil Chhetri on his achievement and future of Indian football Meet Mr Keshav Bansal. This Gujarat Lions co-owner wanted to throw light on Sunil Chhetri’s achievement in Indian football but ended up tweeting—“Let’s take a moment to talk about @chetrisunil11, the Indian footballer who has been ranked 4th in the world for scoring the
Messi – Bengali Movie Review Messi is a bad movie. It embarrasses you. Brings the child out that you locked away somewhere deep inside and forgot about it. Makes you confront the simple complexities of life like not managing to carry out the next door love.
Review: A Death in the Gunj with Konkona Sen Sharma’s interview Star Cast: Vikrant Massey, Tilottama Shome, (Late) Om Puri, Tanuja, Gulshan Devaiah, Kalki Koechlin, Jim Sarbh, Ranvir Shorey, Arya Sharma
“When I was up there, stranded by myself, did I think I was going to die? Yes. Absolutely, and that’s what you need to know going in because it’s going to happen to you…
Calcutta is a heady concoction. Peopled by the natives, built by the English, tempered by nationalism, cut open by a famine, balmed by a cultural renaissance and marked by the efflorescence of communism, Calcutta catapulted from being a congregation of three villages to Kolkata of the modern times.
The Kumartuli Bandha Ghat (jetty) is a rip roar of colours and activity. The narrow lanes leading to the banks of Hooghly, the rows of clothesline from which hang a variety of sarees, shirts and sundry and the closely knit hovels and shacks of artisans and potters that bustle with activities form an amazing collective
At the Rio Olympics, when Abhinav returned empty handed, the nation salivated for a sob story of a star finally going into eclipse. But the rabble hardly knew the lengths Bindra had gone just to get to the Olympics. Despite being ranked outside the top 15, to reach the final was an achievement in itself.
We sat side by side. My fingers touching her. It was dark, very dark, the darkness of the deep blue shade with no star in it. An occasional lightening flashed its branches across the sky followed by a low purr of the gathering clouds. They seemed to answer the humble growl of the sea below.
The queue was too long, the crowd too thick, the pall of gloom too heavy almost stifling. I stood across the road watching people as they trooped in and out of Rabindra Sadan drooped shoulders, talking in whispers, some wiping their eyes others rushing out as if they want to escape that intolerable moment. I
Magic setting, pyrotechnics, psychedelic lights, baritone from medieval pundits,flaming flowers of Varun Bahl and bold gold of A&T set the tone for the opening day Blender’s Pride Fashion Tour, Kolkata leg. If Varun Bahl thrilled with his mosaic on floral patterns, ace designer-duo Abraham & Thakore brought to fore the urban woman.
Football fever had taken a new turn in the city. Suddenly cricket was borrowing stars from a football team to add to the sheen of its celebrations. As Joffre, Borja and Josemi waved at the fans from the VIP box of Eden Gardens suddenly it felt like a gotrantar for the game hitherto treated as
There is a certain aura to conspiracy theories. Utterly dis-believable and yet it leaves a lingering sense of anticipation. There is absolutely no credo to these tell-tales and yet they leave a few lurking questions in our minds of the ‘What if’ variety.
Manchester United has been express and impersonal in the eviction of the hamsters, nannies and dorks that emphasised the David Moyes era. Only one remains. He scurried around like a puddle last season and at best barked mildly in between fitness issues. When Louis Van Gaal came, he was quick to hand out to the
Self destruction is usually defined as “the voluntary destruction of something by itself.” In human terms we are talking about counter-productive and ultimately self-destructive behaviour patterns which can cause irreparable damage, either deliberately or inadvertently.
There is a certain good in being bad. The arrogant rub, the undefeated spirit, the unconquerable will, the adamant motivation to carry on when everything else around is falling apart makes us love them despite knowing their follies.
There are winds of change along Eastern Metropolitan Bye-pass. The city marches along the giant East West connector twice a year when the traditional rivals East Bengal and Mohun Bagan lock horns. They carry their respective flags and paint their faces with their respective colours.
It has been quite a while that I have been going to an up-market men’s saloon on Park Street. The glazed glass exterior of the shop, whiff of cool breeze from the ac vents inside, soft cushy seats and low dim lights mingled with a wide range of aroma of after shaves and shaving lather
Tickets-sold out. Jerseys 34 (Ganguly) and 5 (Gambhir)-sold out. Crowd-impatient, itchy, expectant. Loyalties-fractured.
A line from Peanuts has been a great source of comfort for me since my school days—“I think I’ve discovered the secret of life – you just hang around until you get used to it.” I held on to the line like a charm that helped me get through several downs.
What if I become a stone! A bright shining piece to play Throw me around, build your house, Use me any which way.
Most of the time I have to travel by air. I go to the airport and catch a plane, I am hopping places. I reach my destination, attend meetings and then I am back at the base and that too in time.
It happens sometimes. When the grey sky with droopy eyes makes the sun go to sleep… it happens. When you look out at the window pane and see one droplet collecting the other and the two knock on the next door brother…till they have gathered enough to roll down the pane and seep through the
The moment a monsoon breeze blows, our lanes get flooded right up to the main road. The wayfarer’s shoes must carried over his head like his umbrella and it becomes clear that the inhabitants rank no higher in the struggle for existence than the amphibious beasts.
There is no reason to make things more complex than they are already. The heart of the matter is the red bastion is being stormed, stoned and pillaged by a different hue of the same red. The Maoists are storming the Red zones like Bastille. As the flames rise in Lalgarh and blood spill in
“Gods are selfish beings who fly around in little red capes and don’t share power with mankind. I want to share power, but I want my cut”…Lex Luthor.
A boat lay moored to the silted steps of the dilapidated ghat. The sun was just about to go down…on the boat’s belly was a boatman…engaged in his evening prayer. The silent figure kneeling and bowing silhouetted against the fading glow of the Western sky looked like a fleeting image that will vanish with the
When I gave up my first job I dare say I gave up a lifetime of materialism. I broke the news to jaw-dropping disbelief from my peers and silent indignation from elders. But I did not care…I wanted to lead my life…no matter how frugal, how puny.
I was sitting at the bus terminus that would take me back to Kolkata far from this dreamy land of haze and sun. They look like twins that play hide-and-seek never tired of each other’s desire to outdo the other.
Phew! What a year it has been…I am not talking about the big things— the big successes and failures, the reasons to fear and cheer, the sights that blurred and left many more clear. I am talking about a much more mundane and ordinary concoction of thoughts from a nobody’s point of view.
The war has just begun. Make no mistake about it.
If I were a rain I would have washed away the stains of brutality From your walls and Filled the empty minarets with water pleasant.
Quis his locus, quae regio, quae mundio plaga? I WANDER’D lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Farewell to you all Yellow butterflies on pink violets Charcoal prints of supple fingers on old walls Long balcony, broken panes, pitter-pattering rain Farewell mother’s lap, father’s shoulders Farewell the first toddling Farewell to you red lips